9

THE DOCK OF THE BAY

My mommy is a librarian, and my daddy is a policeman,” Jo practically sang as she spoke. She and Mardi were curled up on the couch, with Midnight napping between them. “So, what job are you going to get, Mardi? Mommy says you need to get a job.”

“I think I’m going to work on a fishing boat,” said Mardi. She had been racking her brain to find some way to escape Ingrid’s controlling gaze. It had to be physical work, work that would numb her frustration and tame her anger. She pictured herself hauling nets full of stripers across wave-swept decks, diving with a harpoon to spear swordfish and tuna. She would be one of the guys, in her short yellow slicker and high rubber boots, going out for beers at the North Inn after a hard day’s work.

“How fun to be a fisherman!” Jo closed her pretty eyes. “You’ll be like a silver mermaid on the prow of the ship. The fish will see the shiny green light from your mouth and the pretty rainbow on your neck, and they will be under your spell. They will come flying out of the water onto your fishing boat just to be your friends. And by the time the sun rises, you will have so many fish on the boat that all the other fishermen will love you and crown you their queen.”

“You’re a great storyteller.” Mardi smirked. However, her face fell as her mind snagged on six little words from Jo’s vision: by the time the sun rises. What an idiot Mardi was. Fishing boats went out before dawn. Mardi hated the morning. Unless, of course, she was seeing the sunrise after a night of clubbing, in which case the morning might as well be the evening, since she was heading straight to bed. The notion of vigorous exercise in the ocean spray was a whole lot less appealing when she had to consider setting her alarm for some ungodly hour. Never mind. She had to think of something else physically punishing enough to expend her energy.

“So, what do you know about potato farming?” she asked Jo.

Before Jo could answer, Ingrid came in and suggested that Mardi help clear the breakfast dishes.

Man, did Mardi miss her online delivery services. But she bit her tongue, rinsed the plates, cups, and silverware, and loaded them into the dishwasher. Although she hated to admit it, dishwashing actually wasn’t that bad. She felt a simple satisfaction in the domestic chore. The running water on her hands was hypnotic. As she worked, she noticed that her ring finger was bare. She faintly remembered slipping the ring over to her twin while they were watching TV with Ingrid and Matt, but she could no longer picture the actual moment of the exchange. She and Molly could recall their ring exchanges for a little while, the way you hold on to a vivid dream, but eventually the images would fade.

“So Jo tells me you’re considering a fishing career?” Ingrid smiled as she gathered her things to go to work at the library. Since the children had been born, she went only part-time, three afternoons a week, during which time Graciella, the housekeeper, watched Jo and Henry.

“Yeah, I was considering doing fishing. Until it occurred to me that I would have to get up at some crazy hour. So I’ve scratched that career path. But it would be cool to find something to do with water.” As she spoke, she realized how drawn she was to the sea. “And I guess that if I’m going to work on controlling things in myself, I need to be pretty active. Otherwise, if I don’t, you know, move my body a lot, stuff builds up inside me, and it all starts busting loose.”

“Sounds like you’ve been doing a bit of thinking,” said Ingrid with barely concealed delight. “Funny how that happens when life slows down.”

Mardi smarted a bit at Ingrid’s self-congratulatory tone. “Well, I guess I’m off to the docks to see if I can find a job that’ll keep Dad off my case and keep me from killing someone this summer.”

With that, she went up to her room, pulled on a 1965 black-and-white-striped minidress, and slipped into a pair of dark gray Vans that she had illustrated herself in black Sharpie, with an intricate pattern of skulls and bones. She waited to go downstairs until she heard Ingrid’s car start and then fade into the distance. She had had enough advice for one morning.

• • •

As Mardi pulled out of the driveway, she was terrified by the thump of little Henry landing in the passenger seat beside her, as though he had dropped out of the sky.

“What the—!”

She slammed on the brakes and looked up to see that he must have fallen from the branch of the oak tree above the car. How had he gotten up there? And how had he chosen this very moment to let go, when she happened to be passing under to break his fall?

She didn’t want to know, and she certainly didn’t want to deal with explaining what had just happened. She didn’t need people accusing her of recklessly endangering a child right now. She turned off the car, scooped him up, and carried him back to the house.

She knocked on the front door and handed him to Graciella. “I found him wandering in the driveway,” Mardi claimed.

Not waiting for a reply, she rushed away with the distinct sensation of Henry’s silent gaze tracking her every movement from the safety of Graciella’s arms.

Without looking back, she sped to the North Hampton harbor, where the Ferrari drew curious and appreciative looks. She parked and began to walk along the docks, not quite sure what she was looking for but somehow certain that she was in the right place.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice, “fancy meeting you here.”

“Trent!”

His hair was wet, and his thick lashes sparkled with tiny crystals of salt. He must have been fresh from the water. He had on deep green board shorts, flip-flops, and a worn blue T-shirt with the words THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY in faded lettering across the chest.

“Who’s the one that got away?” she asked.

“It’s the name of a local fish place. A friend of mine runs it. It’s awesome. Best bluefish I ever had. They do it with fennel, olives, and orange rind. Maybe we can go sometime.”

How could he look so studly and be talking about fennel and not seem totally ridiculous?

“Yeah, sure. I do bluefish sometimes.”

“Cool . . . So, it’s good to run into you here. Want to see my boat?”

“Oh, that’s right. You live on a boat here. Now I remember. The Dragon, right? Your brother’s boat?”

“You got it. Come check it out.”

When Trent took her hand in order to lead her to his mooring, she didn’t snatch it away as she normally would with a virtual stranger. In fact, she liked the feel of his sun-kissed skin. He played with her hand. “You have a ring tan right there,” he said, amused at the white skin around her fourth finger.

“Yeah, my sister has the ring on now. If I’m not wearing it, you can be sure she is, and vice versa. That ring is basically the only thing we know how to share.”

Trent gave a sunny laugh as they approached a long sleek white boat with a high mast and gleaming teak decks. With childlike delight, he explained that the Dragon was considered a midsized sport fishing boat, that it had twenty-foot outriggers and a seventeen-foot high beam, and that it could cruise at up to forty-four knots at 2,330 rpm.

He started Mardi’s tour up top, on the exterior gallery with its mezzanine-style cockpit replete with tackle, coolers, and a fridge full of beer.

“What are you doing here anyway?” he asked.

“Looking for a job,” she said.

He nodded. “Want a cold one?”

“Sure.”

He popped the tops off two icy pale ales and handed her one as they headed down a flight to the second tier, the flybridge and peninsula style console. There was starboard and forward seating, with bright orange-and-white-striped cushions.

“And finally, down here,” Trent announced, opening a solid teak door onto steps leading to the interior gallery, “is where I lurk.” Belowdecks, the walls, cabinetry, and built-in beds were all of cherry wood. The counters were black granite. The upholstery was leather, chocolate with cream piping.

Mardi looked around for a few minutes, then whistled. “No offense,” she said, “but I didn’t picture you living somewhere quite so . . . well . . . fancy. I got the impression you were escaping all that by hiding out on the Dragon. But this here is pretty flash.”

“It’s not my boat, remember. This is all Killian’s doing. And Killian was all about impressing Freya when he bought it. I’m nothing but a squatter on the Dragon.” He took her hand again. This time, he did not let go. “But a squatter has squatter’s rights.” He winked. “Which means I’m entitled to visitors whenever I want.”

She turned around so he wouldn’t see her blush. Then she made her way back up the stairs.

Back in the daylight, she told him more about her job search, that she wanted something physical, on or near the water, but that there was no way she was getting up early to work on a fishing boat. Did he have any ideas?

“I’m sure we can think of something,” he said. “But why the urgency to get a job? Can’t you relax for the summer?”

“I’m sort of in trouble,” she blurted out, not sure why she was trusting him with this information but unable to hold back. “Molly and I both are kind of screwed, actually. And we have to make a show of cleaning up our acts and pretending to be normal so that the authorities will leave us alone.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” she said.

“Fair enough,” said Trent. “But I’m all ears whenever you’re ready.” He led her back to the deck, where they looked out to the sea through a forest of masts and billowing sails.

“Thanks,” she said.

“So, about a job,” he said calmly. “You look pretty strong to me. How do you feel about loading and unloading cargo?”